


An Unquenchable Flame

by BECandCall



Series: 350 [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Comfort, Cullen Rutherford Fluff, Developing Relationship, F/M, Hypothermia, POV Cullen Rutherford, Short One Shot, Sweet Cullen Rutherford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 21:20:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17373512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BECandCall/pseuds/BECandCall
Summary: The Herald returns to camp after being thought dead in the attack at Haven. She is near death, and Cullen begins to realize the depth of his feelings for her.





	An Unquenchable Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Done for a fic prompt, "warm up"

It was like something out of legend. The Herald walked out from the trees, silhouetted by the stark white snow, ethereal and miraculous. Time slowed as Cullen stared, dumbfounded, unsure if he could trust his sight. He didn’t dare move, for fear the vision would disappear. 

Then she staggered, and reality hit him, cold as the stinging wind. He cried out, and instantly Cassandra was beside him. Both darted forward, clumsily navigating the knee-high snow drifts in a desperate sprint. 

Cullen reached her first, catching her just as her eyes closed and her body gave out. She was limp in his arms, and the icy cold of her skin took his breath away. 

“We must get her warm!” Cassandra directed, ever practical.

“I’ve got her!” Cullen removed his cloak to drape over her, feeling her shiver through its thick folds. His heart constricted and a lump lodged in his throat, stealing his voice. 

With Cassandra’s guidance, Cullen trudged back toward camp, unable to pull his gaze from the Herald bundled tightly against his chest. Her olive skin showed a sickly pallor, and her hair clung in tangled icicles around her face. Her nose and cheeks were chafed raw. 

The healers set upon them quickly, finding an empty cot and pulling her from Cullen’s embrace. He hovered while they worked, fretful and useless. Hours later, they dispersed with mutterings of “lucky”, “wait”, and “rest”. She was piled with furs, surrounded by braziers, tent flaps were closed against the wind.

Alone, Cullen knelt next to her bed, hands clasped before him. Eventually, the lump in his throat dislodged and he found his voice. Turning to old comforts, he began to recite. 

“In your heart shall burn / An unquenchable flame / All-consuming, and never satisfied. / From the Fade I crafted you, / And to the Fade you shall return / Each night in dreams / That you may always remember Me.” 

Many months later, he would come to understand why that verse came to mind. In the moment, it simply felt right. And so he prayed. His was the first face the Herald saw when she woke.


End file.
